Little Thorns
by kaisonsheart
Summary: Left in a home that holds no love for him, young Harry finds solace in the one activity that he is good at, gardening. Little does he know that the reason behind his green thumb is nothing short of magic


The town of Surrey was very average. Cookie cutter houses lined the streets in neat rows. Average people lived in this place, with manicured lawns all the same length, hedges trimmed neatly, and flowers planted along the walkways, giving a false sense of cheer in the boring plain neighborhood. On the night of October 31, however, the plain-jane neighborhood began to change.

The chilly night of All Hallows Eve saw an old man with a long white beard striding through the sparse trees just outside the light of the streetlamps. Beside him stepped a stern looking woman holding a lumpy bundle. The pair walked with purpose through the edge of the thin thicket, towards the paved streets of Privet Drive. They trekked quietly, and avoided leaving signs of their passage. The wind blew gently through the scattered trees, gently rattling the sleeping underbrush and pulling softly at the dead leaves of late autumn. As the pair neared the house on the end, the old man pulled what seemed to be an odd ornate lighter from the sleeve of his robes. Flicking the lid open, fire did not appear as expected; instead there lay a small softly pulsing orb of light. He pointed the odd bauble to the streetlamps, and one at a time the light of the lamps condensed into small orbs in turn, and flew to join that contained in the lighter. With the street now lit by nothing but the heavenly bodies above, the couple stepped into the street and continued their journey towards Number 4.

The woman shifted her burden, pulling the folds of cloth back and smiling before replacing them and hugging the bundle close. She carried a most treasured bundle in her wiry arms, something that held the hopes and dreams of hundreds of people, the light of the future swaddled in the dark shadows of the present. Wrapped securely in a warm fleece blanket, was a child. No more than a year old, the small boy was in a deep sleep, spelled onto him to keep him calm and content. His tuft of dark hair hinting at a color not unlike that of a raven's wing once grown, and round cheeks that promised a handsome face worthy of any aristocrat.

Upon reaching the doorstep of Number 4, the old man pulled from his sleeve a gnarled piece of wood. Picking up a pebble from beside the step, he waved the stick and what once was an ordinary pebble was now a sturdy wicker basket. "Albus, are you sure this is the only way? Surely there must be another family who could take him in?" the woman asked, her stern face shadowed with worry. "Even another muggle family would be better than these people. I have watched them all week, and my instincts tell me that they will not care for their own child in any healthy way, let alone the child of an estranged relative." The man turned to her, his face worn with weariness and sorrow, "I am sorry Minerva, but it must be done. This is the only way we can be sure he stays safe. If there was any other way to protect him right now my friend, know that I would do it in a heartbeat, but alas there is not." He gently took the child from his longtime friend and nestled him into the basket.

On the child's chest he left a sealed letter, explaining the circumstances upon which the child was left into their care, as well as a letter for the boy when they felt he was old enough to understand. Albus also left a necklace upon the boy's chest, gently putting it around the boy's neck. It was a beautiful piece; a thin slice of jade upon which were carved a pair of stag's antlers supporting delicate lilies. It was suspended on a thin silver chain that had no end nor beginning. The necklace had been one of the few things the aging man could gather from the destroyed home of the child's parents.

Their task complete, the couple turned and began to walk away from the house. Before they got to the end of the drive, they heard a soft voice from behind them, "So that's it then?" They turned around quickly to see a thin young woman in a dressing gown holding the boy. "You're just going to leave my nephew on my doorstep with naught but a letter and my sister's most treasured necklace? In the middle of an autumn night with no more than a fleece blanket?" Her face was both full of grief and anger. Petunia Dursley was not an intimidating woman, yet the fury on her face at the actions of the pair was clear. "My lady we-" Albus began, "No. I don't want to hear your excuses," Petunia hissed, "My sister and I may not have been on good terms, but she let me know what was going on just in case something happened to her. I'll take care of Harry, in return I do not want to ever hear from you people again," she turned and went back into the house, leaving two very stunned people at the end of her drive.

"Well, at least we know he will be taken care of. I should hope that she does not remain resentful forever. The boy will need to be taught at one point." Albus said sadly, "Let us depart Minerva dear." With that Albus turned and disappeared with a soft pop. Minerva turned to do the same, but looked over her shoulder one last time at the home behind her, "I hope that they treat you well," she said softly. Then with a snap, she was gone and the neighborhood was quiet once more, leaving the lonely cold wind to blow brown withered leaves down the street.


End file.
